Sat - June 2, 2007

Another Bed-time Story


Not a sequel....

There was an old man, retired, living alone in his home. One day, he got up out of his chair and went to the stone patio he had made in his youth. Thousands of flat stones laid out meticulously, like a giant, unpictured jigsaw puzzle. He walked to the center of the patio, leant over, and carefully lifted one stone. He was old, and not the young man who had first laid these stones, but he persevered, and lifted the rock, and carried it through his back dorr, through the kitchen, into the living room, out the front door, and into his front yard. He placed the stone carefully in front of his doorstep. And that was all he did that day. He went back into his house and sat, reserving the rest of his strength.

The next day, he placed another stone from the back patio to the front. And the next, and the next. With each successive stone, it took less effort to carry the flat stone, even though each day he walked one step further. His neighbors didn;t knwo what to think, but what they saw amazed them. Each day, teh old man seemed younger, stronger, happier than he had ever been living in his home.

As the days pased, his stepping stones crossed yards, counties, states. Still each day, he took a stone from his patio and walked to the end of his path, placing it carefully at the end, then walked back to his home to rest.

Until the day that he walked into his back yard and found tha the had only one stone left. He was not sad; he had found a new place to go. He l ifted the stone and followed the path to its end. There, he placed the stone and looked up, only to be dumbfounded to find the step to the front porch of a small cottage. But, out of habit, he walked back to his house and rested till the next day.

He began walking in the morning as the sun rose. His path had been al lhe had looked at while he placed it, but now there was nothing to stop him from looking around. He passed by the world. He looked at it and found that, though it was interesting, he did not belong in it. He belonged on this path. And he found himself on the last stone. He looked up to the porch. the door there was open. He walked in and found the house empty. He walked out the back door and, to his amazement, found a sinfle file of flat stones leading into the woods behind the house. He stepped onto the first stone and began to walk.

After a few hours of walking, he saw a young lady walking toward him, careful to step on the stones, and not off the path. She looked down at the rocks, not seeing him. He coughed before she ran into him. She looked up, but did not seem startled.

"I am sorry if I have trespassed on your path, but I have been building my own for some time, and found that it led to your door."

She took him by his hand, looking up at him and smiling at him.

"And I have spent this time building a path for us to walk at our leisure. Together, let us build a path for others to follow."

Posted at 11:21 PM     Read More  


Fri - April 20, 2007

A Bed-Time Story


The Hole

There once was a hole dug deep into the ground. It wasn't a well... it never reached water. It wasn't a trap... nothing ever fell into it. It wasn't a mine... nothing was ever found in it. It was just a hole, deep, dark, and pointless.

When it was dug, there were such plans... water, gold, gems.... But it yielded nothing, just darkness.

One night, the moon, graceful and shining silver and blue, rose directly overhead. Its light reached down to the bottom of the hole, shining on every mote of dirt on the walls, every inch of stone. And, slowly, the hole filled. Not with water, not with gems, not with furs, but with the gentle light of the moon, soft and forever.

It filled to overflowing with the light, filled until it had no other choice... it began to spill out. And the bottom of the hole, because the hole had been beaten, began to rise from the depths, the hole becoming shallower and shallower, until, at last, the silver light of the moon shown down on level ground, a perfect circle of fresh dirt, ready and fertile for life and love.

And around that circle, a golden ring formed in the dirt. It represented all that circle of dirt had been, all it was, all it would become. A never ending cycle of life and love.

Not what you expected, was it?

Posted at 11:55 PM     Read More  


Wed - December 27, 2006

3 Words


Change the world...

And that's all it takes. Three words change everything. Three words cause the universe to tilt. Three words change the course of lifetimes, of fate.

Three words.

And the world... tilts.

Posted at 10:46 PM     Read More  


Tue - February 15, 2005

Hearing Ghosts


... or, the voicemail.

It doesn't happen often. I would like to think that last night's call was understandable.

It's funny. I was nervous as I called, even as late as it was. No one was going to answer- no one was still there. Unless there was a case today, and then, oh my god, what was I going to say, what would I do?

But it was the voicemail. New instructions right up front. A good decision.

Dialing the two-digit extension. Listening to the ring. Waiting.

Good to hear your voice.

Ghost voice.

Voice.

Posted at 05:00 PM     Read More  


Sun - February 13, 2005

For Monday, 14 Feb 2005


A duplication from the Cafe Anarchy.

That day approaches, that day those who are truly single truly despise, and that day those who are part of a whole savor. I am caught in the middle, for no matter how far distance separates us, no matter how much time passes, no matter the lives in between, we are never apart, never separate as long as our dreams, our thoughts, our souls connect. And through that connection, as thin as it may seem to those outside, our lives are shared and made complete. We hold hands in our minds, and our unconscious and subconscious work together to meet in the middle of our distance every night, every thoughtless moment. Not a thoughtlessness where something important is forgotten, but a thoughtlessness where we are quite literally thinking nothing- moments driving, moment in waking up, in finding our ways through those rituals of morning waking that do not require thought, and those moments before sleeping, when our thoughts, though, perhaps, rampant, still need no conscious effort to maintain.

This is our day. Ours.

Posted at 02:49 AM     Read More  


Sat - November 27, 2004

Friend Ships


Boats passing in the night.

I think we don't understand that friendship includes in it the "usal" clause. In this day of get and get more, where everything comes with a price higher than the value of the thing, we expect to take more than we ever expect to give back, and that has become the standard.

The catch is that I have never considered this "normal" between friends. I never give anything expecting anything in return. What I give, I give freely, of my own volition. Yes, a friend may have to ask me, for I am notorious for missing the obvious, but, once asked and given, it is not my nature to expect returns. I will never ask for the thing back, and in the way of emotion, I never expect the same kind of purity and extent, not because the other person is incapable of it, but because I know that other person has other people with whom they must also share their time and emotions.

Why am I special? Why can I share my emotions so extensively to each person? Maybe I can't, but I believe I do, and it is that faith that makes my form of love so different from others'. I've been told that it is not a matter of faith, that illusions are not the decent basis of faith. I argue, however, that illusions are the entire basis of faith. Looking around at the reality of our world, there are rarely real things worthy of our faith. But, occasionally, there are illusions, unreal forms, that capture our attentions and our trust. Sometimes, it is only a word, like "love," or "God," or "the future." And these things bring forth from us a wellspring of trust and faith because we know, deep within ourselves, that what is real is not worthy of our trust, our faith, not worth the effort it takes to render the real things into illusions.

So, there are times when I use the word, "love," and, each time I do, I am always honest and sincere, because the illusions and faith we place on these words is so great, that to lie would be one of the worst ways of breaking the compact we have between ourselves as people. "Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not proud or boastful" (1 Corinthians, 13). Yeah, I've read the Bible, and can quote some of it. Certainly doesn't make me a holy man. I wanted to be a preacher once. It didn't work out. But it made me realize just how serious "love" is, as a word.

There are times when I use the word, "God," simply because that is the easiest way to convey the meaning of some benevolent (or, unobtrusive) being with intelligent plans for the people living on this planet. It always bothered me that the Christian "One God" came in three parts, the Trinity (with a capital T), and that most Christians refuse to see how their concept of "Satan" is as a fourth face, or fourth entity, in their religion. Good and evil, and a lot of time is spent discussing the latter, and not enough in praise of the former. Look at the papers- good news doesn't sell; all we want to read about is how many our forces killed, how many died, how many were sent to prison, how many burned. A school's Academic Bowl team could win an amazing victory, but it would not get published until the following week's "Education Day" edition, typically Thursdays around here. But if a teacher hits a student (whether in self-defense or not), you can depend upon it being on the 5:00 news and the front page of the next day's paper, Thursday or not. Good news isn't news.

Funny how they call the New Testament the "Good News." Amazing how easily it is taken for granted, simply because it is good news. "Everyone gets saved!" No one preaches that anymore. It doesn't sell. They preach about the 144,000, the limited spaces available in Heaven. Or, they preach about how this or that behavior will not render you unto the spirit. After reading and reading, I have to come to the conclusion that the Christian Jesus wanted to save everyone, regardless of race, color, creed, or any other silly notions of right or wrong, because that is what we are talking about- these can be saved because they are right. These will never be saved because they are wrong. Religion is all about being racist or sexist or culturist or intellectualist or linguist. Religion is all about hate. Either the restriction of it or the spread of it. And I do mean "restriction." "It's okay to hate these people because they are evil. You can hate evil people and God will still love you." And "these people" are different from you how, exactly? Skin color? Gender? Culture? Intelligence? Language? Yes, I sometimes use the word, "God." It is not always an honorable thing.

Looking at the present, at the problems in the world, personal and global, I can only look to the future for the answers. The future, whether immediate or far-flung, is where my hopes lay. A future where I can change, where the world can change, where people can change. A future where abstract things like "love" and "God" and "the future" can be seen for what they truly are- hope and faith. And, with that in mind, let me tell you where my faith lives. My friends. My students. Myself. These three abide, and in them, my faith abides.

Which brings me to the concept of "friend." I will be blunt. I don't lose friends. I may lose touch. I may not see them or hear from them as frequently as I would like, but I don't lose them. A month might pass, a year, a decade. Time does not exist for me during these lapses. My friendship, my warmth, my love is still there, ready and accepting. You can try to hurt me enough to make me remove these from you, but you can't. My offerings are not based on pain or distraction or temporary things of this nature. My offerings are based on my love, pure and enduring. Once offered, I do not retract it. Take it or leave it is your choice, not mine.

Finally, can a true friendship ever be inappropriate?

So, here is my ship, call it Chaos, floating in the sea of illusions of reality. As it passes you, note the flag of friendship I fly- electric blue on white, my only conception of perfect color balance- ready to come alongside you, not as a pirate, but as a companion, ready, eager to join you in your journey.

Posted at 12:16 PM     Read More  


Thu - November 25, 2004

A Doubled Entry from the Cafe Anarchy


Thanksgiving 2004, Memories Shock Me

Memories shock me today...
The invisible contrast of snow on sand,
The sound of surf and your breathing,
The heat of your skin under my cold hand.
I can hear your voice in my ear,
Soft and hungry, telling me your
Secrets on the bedroom floor
In the basement of the sand castle.
There was laughter and smiles,
Real laughter, real smiles,
And real hope.
“And my mom says June is not too soon.”
So, June it is.
June of someday.
And I hope someday is
Someday soon, though soon is something
Relative. I’ve already waited.
I will always wait, because I know the meaning of
Perfect and how I relate to you in
Perfection.

I never meant to scare you away.
Ever.
I wish I knew how to entice you back.
Not to you r detriment- you are three now.
And I know how important the other two
Are to you. Believe me.

So, I sit in my living room,
Thanksgiving,
Eating frozen fruit,
Trying to get over the sick
Of the flu. I can taste the chili.
I can taste the wines.
I can taste the cheeses.
I can taste the vendaloo.
Parking on the upper levels and taking the elevator down
Just to be alone for a few extra moments before
The shopping begins.
Hungry kisses behind the aisles of toys,
Avoiding the eye of the security camera,
Or, maybe, just not caring.

Call it the fever. Call it the illness.
Call it my madness, for I have always claimed
Madness. One man. One madness.
One woman. Perfect and beautiful and
Smiling.

Smile some more. Please.

Posted at 02:56 PM     Read More  


Thu - July 1, 2004

30 June 2004


In the Island House, Circuit Ave., Oak Bluffs, MA

It has been said that "the Romantic poets were little more than Death and Sex, and we're not real sure about the Death bit." Not sure who said that. I guess it could very well have been me, though only after my six weeks in London. Prior to that, they were love and mysticism and a brilliant personal cosmology. To me, the Bright Star and Kublah Khan were real people- love and war and pleasure- all wrapped up into one. All of Man's expressive creativity lived within each verse, and faded as the poem died.

How do you see me?

Posted at 03:12 PM     Read More  


Mon - November 10, 2003

Faith Explained


This is a mirror of something I wrote for the Cafe Anarchy . I wanted to post it here to reach a broader audience... or something like that.

Do you know what faith is? Real faith, true faith? Faith is belief beyond evidence. It is certainty in a sea of doubt. And it is almost always centered around religion, because religion is something for which most people cannot show evidence, as evidence, proof, negates faith. I do not believe that.

I am special. I know this. I have known this for many years, for two and a half decades, since that day I met my goddess.

I know faith. This is not “holier than thou.” This is “holier than thou can possibly imagine.” Have you ever touched your god? Held his hand? Looked into his eyes? I have kissed mine. I have held her close. I have looked into her face and seen her eyes shining more brilliantly than any light made shine in the skies. I have felt her heartbeat next to mine in a tidal pulse rivaling any incoming waves. I have held her hand and felt her squeeze mine. I have kissed her lips and felt her face flush warm next to mine.

How many of you can say you have done the same to your god? i will not say that your god does not exist. I can’t say that,any more than I could say that Shiva does not exist, or Zeus, or Osiris, or any of thousands of others who have been worshipped through the centuries. But I know mine exists. I know because I have stood beside her, have sat beside her, have dreamt beside her. I know she exists with a certainty stronger than any of your faith, stronger than all of your faiths. Does this make my certainty any less faith than your faith? Certainly not. My faith is certain because I have met her. It is still a faith. Some of you might quote scripture to me at this point, “Thou shalt have no god before me.” I wouldn’t dream of it. My goddess does not come before your god. She comes before me. She is in my eyes, in my mind, and in my soul constantly. She would not like to be placed before your god. But I look up and I see her. I dream and I dream her. I whisper to her in my mind and I am certain that she hears. Again, it is not an imagining... it is a certainty; I know she hears me, because I have spoken to her, have talked with her about my dreams... about our dreams, those dreams that we share, when we meet, both in our sleep, both in separate dreams, dreams that connect to form a single experience.

More than anything else, I know she is there because she chose me. Id di not choose my god. She chose me. She picked me, and I accepted her attentions. She looked for me, she held her hand to me. She had a world from which to choose. She chose me to speak to. She chose me to kiss. She chose me to languish in her eyes. And I languished with my heart and soul, giving my life in an instant,whether when I was 13 or when I was 20 or when I was 36 makes no difference. My life has never been my own, because time does not run in a straight line for us. It twists and turns and becomes entangled, allowing us to cross not just time, but lifetimes.

Will your god do that for you?

You might ask me, “Will your god be there for you when you die?” Of course she will. She is no less eternal than I am. If you believe my body to be all that I am, then you have much to learn, and if you do not understand the relationship between minds, then there is no way for you to understand any of these discussions.

I carry her heart in my pocket, a reminder of the soul I carry with me in my heart. I keep the key to the Ark on my key chain, waiting for the flood of emotions that will open that door again. And I have my faith. My certainty. I have my dreams and our shared dreams. I hold her close to me.

I have faith. It will never fail me. Neither will she. Because she cannot. My faith in her will not let her.

Posted at 09:48 AM     Read More  

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